


The Education of Mr. Bennet's Daughters

by itsmeliz



Series: These Strange Series of Events [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Education, Elizabeth is Sherlock Holmes, Family, Gen, Mr. Bennet is Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 09:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmeliz/pseuds/itsmeliz
Summary: Mr. Bennet teaches his daughters. Results may vary.





	The Education of Mr. Bennet's Daughters

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having some trouble with the next chapter of These Strange Series of Events, so I decided to do a writing prompt instead. 
> 
> For those that don’t know, basically Mr. Bennet is like Mycroft Holmes, with Lizzy as Sherlock.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. Please know that the events are not in chronological order.
> 
> Taken from tumblr: https://justawritingpromptaday.tumblr.com/post/183491601763/writing-prompt-194

SHOES

“Shall we start from the bottom today, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet asked as they walked, hand in hand, through the dusty streets of Meryton. His daughter nodded as solemnly as child of five could, trying her best to hide the spark of excitement in her eyes. It was a favourite game of theirs, and one they played often, to Mrs. Bennet’s frustration. As Mrs. Bennet was currently at her sister’s house showing off how well their latest daughter, Lydia, could walk; and Jane was there to mind Mary and Kitty; Mr. Bennet felt free to beg off the rest of the visit so that he might indulge. He feigned seriousness as he asked his daughter what she might be able to learn about the man currently looking through the window into the milliner’s shop.

Lizzy’s small brow furrowed as she took in the sight of the man’s boots. In other towns it would be a strange sight to see a man and his young daughter stare openly at a man on the street, but the people of Meryton were so accustomed to Mr. Bennet’s odd habits that they paid the two very little attention, though some made a point to scurry away. Mr. Bennet noted which ones were eager to escape from his sight, and shelved the thought away to be prodded the next time he would need to resolve an issue as magistrate. He focused then on Lizzy. “His boots are muddy,” she said very decidedly.

“Yes, they are. Can you tell me why this is an important detail?”

Lizzy looked down to the road, and her own feet. “My shoes are dusty. It is too dry for his boots to be muddy, isn’t it, Papa?”

“Well spotted, Lizzy. How do you think his boots came to be so muddy?”

“Did he walk through a puddle?”

“Perhaps he did, my girl. Think on it now: what happens when a man walks through a puddle on a particularly dusty day? How does it look?”

Lizzy closed her eyes tight. “His boots would get dirty, but not so muddy.” She opened her eyes to look at the man who then decided to go into the milliner’s shop, apparently to look at the wares more closely. She scowled in disappointment.

“Keep his boots in your mind’s eye, my dear. We can discuss the rest of him when he exits.”

“His boots aren’t dirty enough,” she stated finally. “I think he walked through some mud.”

“Very good! And where do you think he found this mud on such a hot day?”

“Did he work in a field?”

“Think once more about his boots, my dear.”

Lizzy closed her eyes again. “His boots are very nice. Do people wear very nice boots to work in a field, Papa?”

“It is very unlikely that anyone would.”

Lizzy bit her lower lip. “Maybe he walked by the pond?”

“That is more likely, but what else would you need to see to know for sure?” Mr. Bennet looked fondly at his daughter, who was deep in thought.

“His trousers?”

Mr. Bennet smiled. “I think that would be the next logical step. Now tell me, Lizzy, what should we look for on his trousers, when our friend exits the shop?”

Lizzy turned up her face with a grin, as the two discussed the heights of reeds and how grass might stain cloth, waiting patiently for the new inhabitant of Netherfield to exit the shop.  
 

***

FORK

“Tell me, my dears, what do you think we might learn from this fork?”

Mr. Bennet gathered Jane, Lizzy, and Mary around his chair, eager to distract them after the wailing from upstairs had subsided. Kitty and Lydia had been confused and upset at the noise and chaos of the day, but had finally gone to sleep. Jane, Lizzy, and Mary, however, were old enough to wonder why their Mama had been in so much pain, and asked questions about why their Papa had tried to send them away to their Aunt Phillips for the night, and why he seemed so sad now. Mr. Bennet found that he could not yet find the words to explain the situation, as it had all happened so quickly, and retreated to familiar games. 

Jane sniffed, but looked obediently at the fork in her father’s hand. “It is very scratched.”

Lizzy frowned at her father, but played along, as she always did. “It is not one of ours.”

Mary looked down and said simply, “Four.”

“Yes, Mary, there are four tines. What else?”

“I think it was bent,” Jane said, gently pulling her father’s hand closer to her so that she might inspect the fork more closely. “It is not so bent now.”

“Someone fixed it,” said Lizzy. 

“Why?” asked Mary.

“That is a good question, Mary. Why indeed?” Mr. Bennet asked his daughters.

“Maybe it was a favourite fork?” ventured Jane.

“Could someone have a favourite fork?” asked Lizzy.

“Some people could have a favourite fork,” said Jane. “Mary has a favourite blanket.”

“It’s soft,” said Mary, referring to her blanket, and not the utensil in question.

“Perhaps this was someone’s favourite,” Mr. Bennet said, turning the fork over in his hand. “Do you think it very likely, though?”

Lizzy frowned, deep in thought. “No,” she said decidedly. “If it was someone’s favourite, I don’t think it would have been bent so much.”

“So, what might that tell us?” asked Mr. Bennet.

“I think,” Lizzy started, biting her lower lip, “maybe the person who owned this was not very rich.”

“Why do you think that?”

Lizzy lifted the fork out her father’s hands, and weighed it thoughtfully. “It is not very heavy. It is not as nice as ours.”

Mr. Bennet agreed, aware that his wife would sometimes crow to her sister at the fineness of the silverware at Longbourn, compared to the others in Meryton.

“Who do you think owned this?”

“Maybe,” Jane said shyly, “it was one of the farm hands?”

“Not the ones that live here,” said Lizzy. "The ones they use don't look like this."

“That is right, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet then explained that it used to belong to a worker their steward had hired to help with the harvest last fall. Unfortunately, that young man had been found stealing hens from a nearby farm, and Mr. Bennet was obliged to have him arrested and flogged. He did not mention this to his daughters, though, and taught them of the weights of different metals, and how to tell tin from silver. He talked until he saw their eyelids begin to droop, and called for the nurse to have Mary prepared for bed, while he took Jane and Lizzy to their room. 

Jane slept quickly; her fair braided hair was bright in the candle light. Lizzy pulled the blankets close, and looked at her father. 

“Did Mama have a baby?” Lizzy asked quietly.

Mr. Bennet sighed. “Please do not ask your Mama about this. It will make her sad.”

Lizzy nodded, and snuggled closer to her sister. Mr. Bennet left the room to have a glass of port.

***

   
PEN

“Do many people write to you, Papa?” Elizabeth asked as her father accepted a bundle of letters at breakfast.

“More than I would like,” replied Mr. Bennet, dividing the informative letters from the ones that were a nuisance.

“Why?”

“So many questions, Miss Lizzy!” said Mrs. Bennet. “Why do you always have so many questions?”

Mr. Bennet ignored his wife, and looked to his daughters. Jane and Lizzy were now of an age to eat with their parents in the mornings to learn proper table manners, though Mrs. Bennet was often annoyed with Lizzy’s inquisitive nature and frustrated at how Mr. Bennet would encourage it.

“Some of my correspondents write to me because I wish for them to tell me very interesting things.”

“What about the others?” asked Lizzy.

“They,” said Mr. Bennet as he divided the last of the letters, “are problems.” He looked then to Jane, who had a look on her pretty face as if she wished to speak. “Yes, Jane?”

Jane looked to her mother, aware that this was not perhaps proper table manners, but spoke all the same. “Is the smaller pile the interesting letters?”

“How can you tell?” asked Lizzy. “Did you see the addresses?”

Mrs. Bennet huffed; she was not to win this particular battle but noisily clinked at her plate and coffee cup to show her displeasure.

“Papa handled them very differently. He did not like the larger pile.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “Well spotted, Jane.”

“Why do people write to you about problems?” asked Lizzy.

“I will show you at our lessons.”

It was Mr. Bennet’s habit to educate his oldest daughters in the morning, while Mrs. Bennet spent time with Kitty and Lydia. It was during this time that he would teach them mathematics, as Mrs. Bennet had no talent at it, as well as whatever they found interesting that day. As a result, their lessons were rather haphazard; learning natural science one week, and history the next, with Mr. Bennet questioning their reason constantly. Mrs. Bennet found this strange, and so, in the afternoons would have them practice their letters constantly so that they might have pretty penmanship, and sit with them while they made and mended clothes. One of the few things they agreed upon was to find someone to teach their girls the piano.

“How do you think I knew which letters were the interesting ones from my friends, and which ones were full of problems?” asked Mr. Bennet to his daughters. Both sets of letters were spread out neatly across his desk.

Jane frowned. “Wouldn’t you know the addresses of your friends?”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “Yes, but what if my friend had a problem? How would I know to put the letter into the proper pile? What do we know about these letters?”

Mary stood on her toes to peer over the desk, and struggled to find something to say. “That’s six,” she said pointing to one pile, “and that’s three. Three and six make nine. Three multiplied by six is eighteen.” 

“Yes, that’s all true, Mary,” Mr. Bennet said. “When we are done with this, you may play with the abacus, and we will see how high you can multiply.”

Mary smiled at him; eager to show that she can be the best at something.

Lizzy tilted her head to the side, and picked up her father’s pen. “When Mama writes with us, she wants us to make the letters properly. These three,” she gestured with the pen, “have nicer writing than the others.”

Jane looked at the letters again. “If the writing on the letters is not nice, then someone has a problem?”

“Sometimes. Look past the penmanship; see how the ink skips and floods.”

“Does that mean someone was writing very fast, Papa?” asked Lizzy.

“It can. When someone I know writes to me quickly, it usually means that they would like for me to solve a problem for them.”

“If someone was writing to you very fast,” said Jane, biting her lip, “shouldn’t you send your answer fast?”

“Yes. It will take me only a few moments to answer these, though. Read over your Latin while I do so, and I will quiz you when I am done.”

***

   
BAG

“These is much you can learn, Lizzy, from a man’s possessions.”

Elizabeth smiled at her father as she walked to his desk. She had finished her hour with the piano master her parents had hired, and her father had asked her to his study afterwards. She could hear Mary at her lessons now. 

“Whose satchel is this, Papa?” she asked, peering at the bag on her father’s desk. 

“Let us see if you can tell.”

She looked it over – it was obviously new, and so she wouldn’t be able to recognize it belonging to someone. It was sturdily built, and meant for someone who would use it often. Perhaps someone who travelled. She peered inside; her father would have removed anything that would identify the owner immediately. There was a tightly stoppered bottle of ink, a neatly trimmed pen, and a small blank book. She took the book from the bag, and breathed it in.

“It smells like herbs,” she said to her father. She turned the book over in her hands. “Does this bag belong to Mr. Jones?”

“Excellent work! I am pleased that you arrived to that conclusion so quickly. Let us go through your reasoning.”

Lizzy blushed. “I heard him say last week that he needed a new bag, for the one he had was falling apart.”

Mr. Bennet could not help but smile.

***

NOTEBOOK

Elizabeth knew well that paper could be precious, and so took care to make her writing as small and as precise as possible. She did not have her sister Kitty’s talent at remembering everything she heard or saw, and wanted to make sure that this receipt would be saved. One of her father’s many correspondents had written of a poultice out of lavender, but did not include the exact proportions; only how it was supposed to look at the end. Mrs. Bennet had been annoyed, and described it as useless, while Elizabeth welcomed the opportunity to see if she could decipher the exact measurements. This latest batch was the closest, and she wanted to compare the effects of increasing one ingredient versus increasing another. 

She looked around the stillroom in satisfaction, glad that Mrs. Bennet had largely given it over to her. Already she had increased the types of plants that grew there, including specimens that her father’s correspondents sent at her request. There were several poisonous plants in the corner, placed inside of birdcages so that others would know not to touch. While she could and did make different creams; oils; and scented waters for her; her mother; and her sisters to enjoy, she found more satisfaction in the making of medicines. Her mother had been horrified at the new additions, but her father had put his foot down: one must study the poison to find the cure.

Elizabeth looked at her book again, and wondered idly if her father would be able to procure a microscope for her.

***

   
CANDLE

“There are ways,” Mr. Bennet said, “of seeing if a sealed letter had been opened.” Jane, Lizzy, and Kitty gathered around their father’s desk. Mary had recently decided that she would not continue her lessons in their father’s peculiar type of logic, and sat in the corner reading a book on geometry. Mr. Bennet held a letter in each hand. To the casual eye, they looked identical. Mr. Bennet wanted to see if his daughters would be able to see any difference.

Kitty took the letters first, crinkling them slightly in her small hands. She quailed at the searching look Mr. Bennet gave her. “I don’t know, Papa,” she said, sniffling, handing the letters back to him. 

Mr. Bennet handed the letters to Jane, and patted Kitty on the head. “Watch, and pay attention.”

“Watch, and pay attention.” Kitty repeated, in the same tone and cadence as their father.

Jane looked at both letters, and held one so she could peer at the edge of the seal. “This one has been opened.” She handed the letter back to Kitty. “See how there is a slight line? It was cut open with a hot knife, and then resealed.”

Kitty looked at the seal, and nodded.

“Very good, Jane. And what of the other one?”

Jane paused, and then confessed that she did not know that the other letter had been opened as well. She handed it then to Lizzy, who looked it over carefully.

“Did you use a candle to open it, Papa?” asked Lizzy.

Mr. Bennet said that he had done so.

“See how there is a small circle of soot at the back of the letter, Kitty?” Lizzy showed her sister. “It is right under where the seal is. Papa held it over a candle just long enough so that the wax would release from the paper.” 

“Precisely, so, Lizzy.”

“But why?” asked Kitty.

Mr. Bennet frowned, and looked at his daughters. “I believe,” he said deliberately, “that is a question you should ask your Mama.”

When Kitty did as Mr. Bennet asked, though, her question was met with Mrs. Bennet saying instead at how odd their father was, and that there was so much vexation she could take from him. Jane was then obliged to soothe their mother, and asked Hill for Mrs. Bennet’s smelling salts, and a nice cup of tea. Lizzy took it upon herself to show Kitty her letters, while Mary ignored them all.

“That was odd,” whispered Lizzy to Jane later that night. 

“I think Mama might have read some of Papa’s letters,” Jane whispered back. “He wanted us to tell her that he knew.”

“If Mama did, that was silly of her. Of course Papa would be able to tell.”

Jane frowned, and nodded. Lizzy could tell that the day had upset her, and hugged her until they both fell asleep. 

***

BOTTLE OF WATER

Elizabeth looked over the bottle that Mr. Bennet had handed to her, and examined it. “It is too dirty to have come from the well,” she said, peering at it. She then lifted it to her nose. “It does not smell like the pond, either.” 

She and Mr. Bennet sat alone in the study. Lydia, Mrs. Bennet had declared, was not to be made as odd as Mr. Bennet, and so Mrs. Bennet decided she would take on the entirety of Lydia’s education. Jane was then obliged to fill in the gaps that Mr. Bennet would have taught, and took care in teaching Lydia her sums, and tried her best to interest Lydia in natural science. Kitty was always in a quake at getting something wrong that she preferred to sit her lessons with Lydia, as they were far easier than the ones that Mr. Bennet gave. Mary had long since surpassed their father’s skill and patience at teaching mathematics, and studied solely from the books Mr. Bennet sent for her and split her time between calculus and writing pieces for the pianoforte which were too complicated for her to play. Lizzy would still join her sisters in the afternoons to play and sing and sew, but she refused to give up her mornings with her father. 

Lizzy looked closely at the bottom of the bottle. “Is that sand?” she asked.

“It is.”

Scenarios flashed through Lizzy’s head. “Mr. Goulding recently returned from visiting relatives at Bath. Did he bring back a bottle of seawater for you?”

Mr. Bennet sat back, gratified at his daughter’s quick response.

***

   
KEYS

Elizabeth could not help but be disappointed at the task in front of her. In her hand was a heavy ring of keys, and before her was a locked chest. She shuffled through the keys with a small, almost inaudible sigh, and opened the chest.

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow at her.

“The key and lock are a matched set,” she said. “This key is the correct size and metal.”

Mr. Bennet took the keys from his daughter and locked the chest again. He then gave Elizabeth a peculiar set of thin bits of metal curved in different ways.

“Do not think,” he said, “that I am advocating theft. I merely wish that you should know the ways of thieves.”

***

   
BAR OF SOAP

Mr. Bennet did not care for London, and would not have ventured into the city at all, if not for his eldest daughters. Jane and Elizabeth were now out at his wife’s insistence, and had been sent to her brother’s house in Cheapside, so that they might see and be seen by the young bucks in town. Mr. Bennet knew that he would have no peace in his home if he did not agree to this scheme, and so his two eldest daughters had stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner for this past month. He was soothed in the knowledge that Mrs. Gardiner was far more sensible than his own wife, and that Jane and Lizzy had learned his lessons well – he had not worried for them, and instead had only missed them. 

He let his daughters talk at him in the sitting room of the Gardiners’ home, telling him of the plays they had seen and the card parties they had attended, as they waited for the guests the Gardiners had invited for dinner. His brother-in-law had invited two potential business partners, and wished for Mr. Bennet to take his measure of them. He was well pleased with Mr. Nott and Mr. and Mrs. Hyatt after they were introduced, and was greatly amused by them over the course of the dinner. Jane was as skilled in prying information as she ever was – very few realized how quickly she could discover information from simple conversation alone, and many found themselves telling her their secrets. She found out what Mr. Bennet wanted to know, at very little prodding. Lizzy was uncharacteristically quiet. Though she delighted in the absurd as Mr. Bennet did, she was still sometimes disturbed in the follies of others, and this farcical dinner was not to her taste.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner noticed their niece’s discomfort. Mrs. Gardiner wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders after the guests had left, and led her away to talk privately.

“She was not as amused in your guests as I was,” Mr. Bennet said to Mr. Gardiner over a glass of port. 

“I did not wish for her to be made uncomfortable,” said Mr. Gardiner.

“Do not be distressed. You could not have known that Mr. Nott and Mrs. Hyatt were having an affair.”

Mr. Gardiner blinked, and sat back in his chair. He knew that Mr. Bennet would tell him, eventually, if he had the patience to sit and wait. He gulped down the rest of his port.

“I commend Mrs. Hyatt for her cleanliness, though I wonder at her wisdom in using the same soap as her lover. She should have brought her own, so that she would not smell the same as Mr. Nott.” Mr. Bennet poured more port into Mr. Gardiner’s glass, and sat back in his own chair. “I am afraid, Gardiner, that I must recommend you find other prospects if Mr. Nott is foolish enough to sleep with his business partner’s wife, and Mr. Hyatt is too stupid to realize it.” 

Mr. Gardiner was forced to agree.

***

   
SCARF

Lizzy diligently worked at her knitting, annoyed that her father and mother agreed that she should learn this particular skill. It was useful, she supposed, to learn how to knit a scarf. Her neck got very cold during the winter. Jane had already made one scarf for herself, a second for Kitty, and was working on a third for Lydia. Lizzy looked at her sister’s quick and clever hands, and did her best to imitate Jane’s movements. Mary had already finished her own, in a colour that Lizzy found hideous, and insisted on making more for their tenants back at Longbourn.

Lizzy and Jane worked side by side at their Aunt Phillips’ home. Mrs. Bennet had insisted that they bring their work with them, so that they might learn to be good wives. Mrs. Bennet took pride in making all of Mr. Bennet’s scarves and shirts, though Lizzy believed that Mr. Bennet did not much care about how he dressed. It was enough for him that he was clean, and neat.

A little further away, Mrs. Bennet, Aunt Phillips, and Mrs. Goulding chatted near the fire and sipped their tea. They talked so loudly and gaily that Lizzy found difficult to focus on counting her stitches, and wished that she could tell them so. It was not as if she wanted to listen, only that it was almost impossible to stop.

“It is a pity Charlotte Lucas is not more handsome,” Mrs. Goulding said.

Lizzy’s hands stilled. Charlotte was older than herself and Jane, but got along with them very well. Charlotte never treated Lizzy and Jane like babies, as some of the older girls did, but instead talked to them sensibly and asked them about their lessons.

“If she were pretty,” Mrs. Goulding continued, “then I’m sure Mr. Harding would have made an offer.”

Jane noticed that Lizzy had stopped knitting, and looked at her curiously. Lizzy flushed. She quickly started knitting again, and tried to listen.

“Mr. Harding liked Miss Lucas very much,” Aunt Phillips agreed, “but Miss Stewart is the prettiest girl in Meryton. How could he not like her over Miss Lucas?”

“Miss Stewart!” Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “It is good for Miss Stewart that my Jane is not out yet.”

Aunt Phillips and Mrs. Goulding both agreed that when Jane was older, she would quite eclipse Miss Stewart. Lizzy likewise agreed, but kept silent, as the three women moved from the topic of Miss Stewart’s engagement, and onto the new vicar of their parish. It seemed that they did not approve of his sermon, but all thought he looked well at the altar. 

Lizzy mind whirled as her fingers wrapped the thread around her needles. She may not be knitting as fast as Jane, but she was learning so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at http://toomanylizzes.tumblr.com/


End file.
